Repair Log
by Tripleguess
Summary: There are things they've agreed to tell no one, like the time they rode a trash cart down the stairs. Snapshots from before they found the Instructions. Movieverse.
1. Yarn

The lights flickered.

It was normal. It was ominous. Pay attention: pay attention to everything you see. But he couldn't see the network of city lights from inside the shop. He went to the door to look. It wouldn't make any difference, but paying attention was the one thing he could do.

He met her coming in just as he was on his way out. She had something cradled in her arms.

"I wanted to see if your Dad could fix it," she said. She rubbed at her eyes. Her hair was frazzled on top.

"Poppy still teething?" he asked.

She smiled weakly. "Yes."

It was an awkward jumble of thin flat metal pieces sticking away from each other with a winding handle set on the side. He recognized it as a yarn swift, something the yarn shop needed constantly. One of the flat metal pieces was bent beyond repair.

"Poppy dropped it down the stairs," she said. Her hands mimed a bouncing motion, dropping lower and lower until they hit the street and one fist smashed down into the other to show how a pedestrian's boot had ground the swift against the paving stones.

His Dad had stepped out to get groceries. He had left Doon in charge. "I can fix it," Doon said.

He brought her into the back of the shop and gave her a cup of tea from his Dad's deadly-looking coffee percolator and two crackers to nibble on while she watched him work. Neither of them mentioned the lights flickering. Flickering was normal. Only blackouts were worth discussing.

He set the yarn swift on his Dad's workbench and went to a shelf lined with bins of flat pieces of metal. None of them matched exactly but he found one that was close enough. He removed most of the old piece with a pair of metal snips, leaving stubs to solder onto. He plugged in a soldering iron, pulled on a pair of gloves with holes in the index fingers, and soldered the new piece in after double-checking the fit. Check twice, solder once; that's what his Dad always said.

He could fix simple things as well as his Dad could. Pleased with himself, he held it up to show Lina, but she was asleep in her chair with half a cracker in her hand. He put the teacup quietly in the sink and laid an afghan over her. She had been nodding off in school too lately.

The solder had cooled. He gave the yarn swift's handle a crank. It worked. 


	2. Repair

He tied his boot strings, gathering them into lopsided bows and giving them a good yank as he always did. The string broke.

He sat there a moment on the edge of his bed, looking down at his left boot and the ends of broken string in his hands. He was glad it hadn't happened on Assignment Day, which was only two weeks away. It was okay to be late on any other day, but not that day. What if they passed out the job of Electrician's Helper and he didn't have a chance at it because he wasn't there? The thought was writhe-worthy.

But it wasn't Assignment Day. He had time to go to the yarn shop and get another boot string.

He greeted his Dad as he went through their apartment to the stairs. He had to descend carefully instead of taking the steps three at a time as he usually did, since his boot string was broken, and he had to walk more slowly than usual. He didn't mind too much. It gave him more time to look at everything. There were two more burned out light bulbs above the street in front of the Harrow apartment. The trash collectors had missed a trash can on Night Street; it was overflowing onto the pavement stones. And Lina Mayfleet was walking in the center of the street, looking down with childlike concentration as she placed one foot _exactly_ in front of the other. Her arms were full of clean laundry from the washing station.

He saw what she was doing. She was following one of the long-disused trolley tracks. She was so intent on it that she had wandered off the way home. He had played step-on-the-track himself - long ago, it seemed, though it might have been just last month. He called out to her.

She looked up. He saw her flush with embarrassment. She quickly stepped off the track and began walking at a brisk, normal pace, as though she had never followed a trolley track in her life. This was her "adult" persona. With her parents gone and Granny becoming more childish by the day, she'd had to grow up fast. He was sorry to have interrupted her carefree moment. He hid his smile so as not to embarrass her further.

"How's your holiday been?" he asked.

"Pretty good," she said nonchalantly. She switched directions to walk with him, but she did it without turning around, walking backwards so she could face him while they talked. He hid another smile. Maybe he hadn't interrupted her that much.

"Where you going?"

"Boot string." He pointed down. Normally he would have had to shorten his stride to stay with her, but not today. "I was headed to your shop to get a new one."

She tucked the laundry mostly under one arm and held up a string that was unraveling from the hem of her multicolored sweater. "Will this work?"

This time he did smile. "It needs to be about this long," he said, holding his index fingers twenty-four inches apart. Boots ate up a lot of string.

"I can make it longer."

"Don't ruin your sweater."

"Granny did say that she could hemstich it back in. But she keeps forgetting to." Lina dropped the string. Her foot struck on an uneven stone and she flailed for balance. Laundry flew everywhere. Doon caught her wrist.

"Thanks," she wheezed, after she had gotten over the scare. He helped her pick up the laundry. After that she turned around and walked the right way. They were almost to the yarn shop anyway.

Granny wasn't in the shop. Miss Sample was there, picking out colored string to make a mobile for her granddaughter. She wound her selection around one of the cards laid out in the counter, cards made from cut up boxes or flat scraps of wood too small for other uses. She laid money on the counter, smiled at Doon and Lina and asked how their day off was going, and left. The Mayfleets were lucky that most of the customers were honest.

Lina tucked the laundry under one arm again. She put the money in the register and straightened the cards with one hand, sliding them over to fill in the blank spot. She had given up on trying to keep the rest of the shop neat. Doon saw the yarn swift he'd once repaired bolted to the back edge of the counter. It was choked with about thirty colors of yarn.

"I'm going to put this away and check on Poppy," Lina said. "I'll come back and help you find a boot string."

"Okay."

The bell jingled as she ran out the shop door. He could hear her pounding up the stairs. The floor above him creaked as she ran from one room to another, and he heard her calling for Poppy, though the words were indistinct.

He looked around at the yarn draped over everything. None of it was organized any more. He could remember when everything had been rolled up and put away neatly. That had been a long time ago. He started scanning to the left of the counter, since that way he would at least know where he had looked. He picked slowly through tangles and wads and webs of yarn. Most of it was too thin, or made of acrylic, neither of which could handle being used as a boot string.

Lina came pounding back down the stairs. The door bell jingled. She had a wad of red string in her hand.

"Poppy had this in her mouth," she fretted. "I wish Granny would be more careful. One of these days she's going to swallow something and then I'll have to call the doctor..."

Doon picked up one end of the damp string. It was thick and scratchy. "What's this made of?"

"I think it's wool," Lina said. "Granny said it should be strong enough to use as a boot string."

Doon stretched it out and pulled it, hard, with both hands. It didn't give. "How much?"

"Oh, you can have it." Lina seemed surprised that he'd even asked. "You fix a lot of things without charging us."

"Thanks." He sat down and pulled the broken string out of his left boot so he could tie the wool string to one end. The knot hitched when he re-laced the boot, but he was able to coax it through each hole in turn and tie a lopsided bow.

"Well?"

He stood up and took a few test steps.

"It's perfect," he said.


	3. Another Great Idea

It was Doon's idea. Things like this usually were.

Lina had come around the corner in one of Granny's knitted shawls, prancing because she was pretending to be a Messenger. She was carrying the most important message any Messenger had ever carried; it would stop the blackouts, cure sick people, fix the sprinklers in the greenhouses, and turn the sky blue.

The details of said message, such as who had sent it and what it contained, were a little fuzzy. She was ten. The important thing was that it was _important_ and she was carrying it - somewhere - and she hadn't a moment to lose. Then she looked up in the course of tossing her head and saw Doon. The all-important message flew out of her head.

He had one of the trash bicycles by the back end, and he was hitching it backward up the stairs outside the yarn shop. Every other step or so a piece of trash would shake loose from the basket and fall.

Lina forgot about pinching the front edges of the shawl together to keep it wrapped around her like a Messenger cloak, as she'd done all the way to Harken Square and back. The shawl came off one shoulder under its own weight. She didn't notice. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to ride it." His eyes were bright with determination and excitement.

Her jaw dropped. "Down the stairs? _Why?"_ Even the trash collectors only rode their bicycles on the street.

"I want to see what happens."

"But you could get hurt!" Lina tied the corners of Granny's shawl into a hasty knot as she went up the stairs. She put her hands on the front of the bicycle. She wasn't helping, exactly; she just didn't want the bike to slip down the stairs and drag Doon with it.

"The railing will keep me from going over the edge. It's a calculated risk."

"That's what you said about the cardboard wings and the -"

"I was nine," Doon huffed. Why did Lina have to remember that? His Dad had caught him just in time to keep him from flying straight down from a second-story window. Doon was still certain that he'd seen something like pride beneath the subsequent lecture on heights and gravity. "This is different."

"Yeah? The trash collector will be mad when he finds out you took his bicycle!"

"He snuck off to play horseshoes with his buddies. Even if he notices, he can't tell without getting in trouble."

Doon's ready grasp of other people's motives sometimes unsettled them. It was one reason he didn't have many friends at school.

"I still think this is a bad idea."

He bumped into the Mayfleet's front door. They had reached the top of the stairs. Lina squeezed past the bike to get on behind him.

"Hey, get off. It was my idea."

"I helped you push the bike up."

"I thought you were scared!"

"I'm brave enough to do anything you can do, Doon Harrow!"

Her mother had complained once that growing up playmates with a boy was making Lina too competitive. Her father had said it was better than her learning to be a gossip. Once the one-upmanship started, it was hard to stop.

"You're going to scream and cry all the way down. Bet you will!"

"I will not," she shot back. "I bet you'll stop halfway because you get scared."

He twisted on the seat to glare at her. "No I wo-"

His foot slipped off the brake. At the same instant, the lights went out.

They both screamed as the bicycle hurtled down the stairs in absolute darkness. The wheels were large enough to take the worn steps, but Lina and Doon rattled around like salt in a shaker. He clutched the handlebars so tightly he was sure he made dents, and Lina was holding on so tightly he was sure she'd dent him. He couldn't have stopped halfway even if he'd wanted to. The racket they made melted into the noises of the blackout - other people screaming and shouting, the deep vibrating coughs of the Generator turning over, crashes as people knocked furniture and each other over in the dark. The bicycle jounced onto level pavement and Doon put his feet down, frantic to keep it from crashing into the building opposite. The pavement stones ate at the soles of his boots.

The bicycle plowed into something and jackknifed, sending them tumbling across the pavement. Paving stones dug into his back. Doon lay where he'd fallen, gasping. He could hear Lina doing the same.

"Lina?" he said, when he had enough breath to talk. He felt a pang of responsibility. It had been his idea. If she was hurt, it was his fault. "You okay?"

He heard her breathing hitch, then rustles of skin on fabric as she ran both hands over herself.

"I think so," she said. She sounded scared. Of course she was: it was dark. "Where are you?"

He rolled to his hands and feet and crawled toward the sound of her voice. He bumped into a trash can after a few feet. He could tell what it was by the smell and by the feel of the metal slats it was made of. He circled around it, losing his sense of direction as he did so. "Lina? I'm coming. Say something so I can find you."

"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," she said, and she kept saying it until he stretched out a hand and poked her in the eye.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to."

They huddled together until the lights came on. The bicycle was on its side near the trash can. A trail of garbage marked its path across the street and up the Mayfleet stairs. The door opened. Doon and Lina exchanged panicked glances.

"Doon! Lina! Are you all right?"

It was Granny. She had Poppy on one hip.

"We're all right, Granny," Lina quavered.

"You fell over the trash bicycle. I'm glad you didn't get hurt. Stay still; that's the important thing to remember during a blackout. Stay still, and you won't fall over anything."

"We'll try to do that next time," Doon said. His voice was quivering with laughter. Lina poked him in the ribs.

"Good boy."

Granny shut the door, oblivious to the trash on the stairs.

Doon and Lina jumped up. They snatched up the accusing garbage as fast as they could, before some more observant adult came along. If it had been Doon's Dad, there would have been another lecture on gravity for sure.

"I won't tell if you won't," Lina hissed as she stuffed her armful of trash in the trash can.

Doon dipped his head slightly in agreement as he dropped his armload on top of hers. Anyone but Lina would have thought he was ignoring her.

"But you know," he reflected as he wiped his hands on his pants, "that _was_ kind of fun."

Lina threw up her hands and stomped toward the stairs. But she glanced back as she put her hand on the railing, and he knew from the quirk in her mouth that she secretly thought so too.


	4. Supplement

He woke in the night to a cramp in his leg.

When in the middle of the night, it was impossible to tell. It was pitch dark. He couldn't see his clock. He couldn't see anything.

His Dad had been working on making a paint that would glow in the dark so people could see things like their clocks and maybe the path to their bathroom after Lights Out, but it wasn't ready now and, judging from the expressions he made while working on it (he never said much - just changed expressions), it might never be ready.

That didn't change the fact that Doon's leg hurt quite badly.

His mind was foggy from sleep. Despite the pain, it was a few seconds before he realized what was going on. He hitched himself up into a sitting position, gasping through clenched teeth, swiveled around to face the headboard, and shoved the sole of his foot flat against the headboard. Then there was nothing to do but whimper as the muscle in his calf spasmed. He did try to massage it, but it hurt so badly and his fingers were so sleep-numbed that he didn't have much success.

"What is it, son?"

Doon felt his Dad sit on the edge of the bed. He'd been in too much pain to hear him come in, and he was in too much pain to answer his question properly.

"Leg - cra- ow," he stuttered.

"Another cramp?"

Doon tried to nod, which was stupid because his Dad couldn't see him, but his Dad was already feeling down along his legs. He quickly found the muscle Doon's hands were clamped around and began kneading it between his own strong hands.

"Ow," Doon muttered, but his gasping eased.

"Sorry, Doon." One hand traveled down to his foot and back, feeling. "That's good. Keep your foot flat."

Doon nodded again, then shook his head at himself and hissed "'kay." It sounded like he was mad, but it was the pain. His Dad understood.

His Dad stayed until the cramp eased, until Doon could speak normally and assure him that he was okay, until Doon had turned back around and gathered his blankets around himself and drifted back to sleep. Doon did not remember hearing him leave.

X. X. X.

There was an extra supplement sitting by his breakfast the next morning.

"Magnesium," his Dad said when Doon picked it up to inspect it. It was an off-white color with faint grey grains. "Magnesium-calcium-zinc. For growth spurts."

The city was low on vitamins. Not as low as it was on medicine, but not well stocked. His Dad had probably taken that supplement out of his own rations.

Doon broke it in half and dropped one piece next to his Dad's plate.

His Dad didn't say anything. He only brought two glasses of water to the table and sat down to eat. He knew what Doon was thinking as well as Doon did. There were drawbacks to producing a bright child and making him brighter by encouraging his thinking, but Loris Harrow was proud even of the drawbacks.

X. X. X.

Doon ate quickly and left early for school because his Dad had advised him not to walk fast today. He could not have walked fast anyway; his calf was sore, and if he didn't tame his stride, walking hurt. But his Dad's advice saved him from being late for school and possibly from provoking another cramp.

He was hitching himself up the stairs, leaning hard on the railing while pretending to be distracted by a sudden flickering in the city lights so Joss and the others wouldn't notice that he was leading with his good leg and walking like a lame beetle and generally doing things that could be made fun of, when he heard Lina flying toward the school from the intersection. He knew the sound of her steps very well. He looked behind and there she was, braid flying, hands whipping the air. She was often late, despite her speed. She would blow into class with a story about Poppy throwing her breakfast onto Lina's kerchief at the last minute or having to talk Granny out of visiting a friend who had been dead for years. Miss Thorn understood Lina's situation and didn't punish her, but the students weren't above teasing.

Between his limping and her running, they got to the front desk at the same time. Doon let her sign in first so she could tear off to the classroom; she was late often enough that when she was on time, she couldn't believe it and couldn't relax until she was in her chair. She wheezed a "GoodmorningthanksDoon" and was gone.

X. X. X.

After school she usually walked partway home with Lizzie Bisco, walking slowly and chattering or being chattered to all the way, but today Lizzie had slipped off early with color in her cheeks and a vague "Got things to do!" to nobody in particular. By the time Lina looked for her and finally realized that she had gone, Doon had left too. So Lina made it as far as Harken Square, walking fast for once because she had no one to talk to and had started her post-school worrying about Poppy and Granny early today. That was where she saw Doon. He was sitting on the edge of the fountain with one foot pulled up across his knee.

"Doon." She skipped to him, happy to see a schoolmate on the way home even if it wasn't Lizzie. Something about his body language made her ask, "Are you okay?"

He looked up from rubbing his calf. "I thought you went with Lizzie."

"Me too, but she went home early today. Roner said." Lina sat down too. "You were limping this morning. Did you fall?"

So she had noticed.

"Nnh, cramp," Doon grumbled. He hadn't wanted anyone noticing. He liked to take care of things himself. "Last night. Still sore. Dad says I'm having a growth spurt."

"Oh."

She drummed her heels against the fountain wall, distracted by a messenger who ran across the square into the city hall. She wondered what kind of message he was delivering. Doon didn't know if she had looked away because she had sensed his discomfort at being caught in pain or if she had already forgotten what he'd said. The lights flickered, but not badly.

"Magnesium," Lina said.

"Hm?" Doon had been watching the lights flicker.

"Magnesium, calcium, and zinc. Are you taking yours?"

"Of course." This was something they all learned in school as soon as they could pronounce the word "supplement." Skipping supplements was a bad idea.

"Then you must need more..."

She trailed off at his look. They both knew that supplies were low. Once Doon would have been assigned extra supplements and even extra rations if he talked to the doctor. Not now.

"I'll ask Granny if she knows anything that could help," Lina said before they parted ways.

Doon appreciated the thought.

X. X. X.

He didn't expect her to come rapping at his bedroom door an hour later. His Dad must have let her in. His door was open, so the rapping was just her way of being polite.

"Still hurting?"

Doon's shoulder's sagged. It was hard to deny it, as she had caught him on his bed with his pant leg rolled above the knee so he could give his calf another good rubbing. "Kinda."

"Here." She took that as permission to come in, brandishing a knit handbag as she did. "Granny said this might help."

She bounced onto the edge of the bed beside him and pulled a knitted leg warmer out of the bag. It was made of scratchy off-white wool. "Grandpa used to use it for his arthritis."

"Thanks." He accepted it gratefully. Keeping the affected muscle warm would probably help. It did not bother him that the previous owner was dead. Everything in Ember had once belonged to someone who was now deceased.

"I, also, uh..." Hesitantly, she removed a paper twist from the bag. He knew instantly what it contained.

"No, Lina. I am not taking those from you."

"But I'm smaller than you," she argued. "I bet I don't need as many. If I just skip a couple days -"

"Dad is already giving me his." It was true; the second half of his Dad's supplement had been in his lunch, and Doon had taken it resignedly. The ache in his calf might have weakened his resolve between home and school. He closed her hand gently around the paper twist. "I have enough. What if you get cramps too?"

He didn't have to add anything about what would happen to Poppy and Granny. He saw the thought shoot across her worried face.

"All right," she said, only a little put out with him, "but if you keep on cramping - oh, I almost forgot."

She fished around in the bottom of the handbag and came up with a blue jar one-quarter full of strong-smelling liniment. Most of the label had worn off with age, but "It's not for eating," Lina warned.

"But it smells so yummy."

She kicked him lightly on the leg hanging off the bed and he made a bigger deal out of it than it deserved, breaking up the awkwardness over Lina's paper twist.


End file.
